Return of the Red Headed Demon
by Lenni George
Summary: When an old acquaintance of Michael and Sam comes to Miami, she rekindles an old flame and nearly burns down the whole town. Sam/OC, some future Michael/Fi. Please let me know if you like this and want more.
1. Have Mercy

Spies never forget a name or a face. Burned spies never forget the history behind that name and face. Not if they want to stay alive.

Mercedes Devereaux Devine was her name, although she rarely used her given name. Most folks knew her as Mercy. Yes, Mercy Devine. I couldn't make that one up. Her face? Well, it was pretty, but then again, a female spy almost has to be pretty. And her history? Well, it wasn't nearly as pretty as her face.

When she walked into the bar, I had to wonder what in the hell she was doing there. An ex CIA operative, she threw it all away for love. Or so she said. Personally, I think it was for the money.

"Michael Westen," she smiled, sitting down next to me and removing her designer shades.

"Mercy Devine," I replied, sizing her up. She still looked good, still looked hot. I hoped that Sam didn't walk into the bar when she was there. Of course, he was due to meet me there in five minutes. Poor Sam. Maybe I could get her to leave before he got there, "He's not here."

Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed. "Do you know what I paid for this intel?" she seethed.

"Right now," I clarified, surprised that she looked disappointed. A smile threatened to show on her perfectly lined red lips. "I'm not going to ask how you found him."

"But you will ask why."

I nodded, she wasn't naïve. She had to know what I was thinking.

"You won't believe me if I tell you."

"Try me."

"Roger's dead," she replied, picking up my drink and taking a healthy mouthful.

Roger. The terribly proper, uber rich, former ambassador/husband was dead. The man was 20 years her senior, so it didn't totally surprise me. What did surprise me was that I hadn't seen or heard it on tv.

"It was all over the news," she said, as if reading my mind. She'd always been good at that, anticipating what people thought. "About a month ago."

"And the suitable period of mourning is over." She didn't look like she was in mourning. With her white sundress and heels, she looked like a vacationing tourist instead of a mourning widow.

"That was cold Michael."

Now, this would have been the time for some cutting line about how she ripped out Sam's heart when she married Roger, but before I had a chance to come up with something smart, Sam walked into the bar.

By the smile on his face, I knew he didn't notice her.

"Michael, Buddy," he began, walking to me, "You have to help me out. There's this woman…"

And then he spotted her, the woman he referred to as Satan's Daughter, The Red Headed Demon, and other assorted alcohol induced names had rendered him speechless. I don't think I ever saw Sam speechless. It only lasted a couple of seconds before he said, "Mercy."

Mercy smiled at him, "Sam."

"What are you doing here?"

Good, he wasn't falling for her smile again. Or was he?

"Roger's dead," she said, in a voice better used for simple announcements like "we're out of yogurt".

Sam nodded, processing the info and said, "I'm sorry." Only it sounded more like a question.

"Thank you."

This was my queue to give them some alone time, so I excused myself to get another drink. I didn't go far, just enough to give them the illusion of privacy, but not far enough so I was out of ear shot.

"How'd you find me?"

Mercy answered him with a roll of her eyes.

"Stupid question," he dismissed, looking out over the water.

Look away from the redhead, Sam, don't let her suck you in again.

"Okay," she said, almost to quiet to be heard from where I was sitting, "So this was a mistake. I should have known better than to think you'd be here waiting for me like you said you would. I'll go."

And she did. She stood up, picked up her purse and walked away.

It took Sam nearly 30 seconds to realize that she was really leaving, but once he did, he was on his feet and following her out the door.

"Mercy," he called, walking double time to catch up to her. Even in heels she was a sprinter like no other.

"Forget it, Sam," she said, stopping by a white Jag. "I was wrong to come."

"You could've called first."

"My intel didn't give me a phone number."

Sam looked pained, "Who'd you use?"

"Max," she shrugged.

Max Weinman was one of the original cold war spies and Mercy always had a soft spot in her heart for him. Apparently that hadn't changed. Unfortunately, Max was so old that most of his contacts had dried up. Even burned I had more contacts than Max did.

"I know, he's old, but I feel for the guy."

"I didn't even know he was still alive."

She shrugged, suddenly finding her car keys very interesting. "So, about coming to Miami, I guess I thought…."

She was doing that sad thing with her eyes. Sam never could resist that sad thing, no matter how much trouble it ended up getting him. This time was no exception.

"Hey," he said, causing her to look back at him. He smiled at her, "I'm glad to see you."

"Coulda fooled me."

Despite the pout, he knew he had her hooked. Then he threw in the clincher, the old nickname. "Come on Giggles, you just surprised me, that's all." Sam had his bearings back and turned the tables on her, charming her right back. This earned him a smile from he read head "That's better. Why don't we go somewhere and talk?"

"Your place?"

"I'm staying with a friend," he said, leaving out the fact that his "friend" was my mother.

Mercy might have been a lot of things, but a fool wasn't one of them. She knew Sam like the back of her hand. "Ah, a woman."

"Yeah, but it's not like that," he said, and she laughed before the words were out of his mouth. "It's not, I promise."

"Then I guess we can go to my hotel," she said, tossing him the keys to the Jag, "I'm staying at the Mandarin Oriental."

Suitably impressed, Sam opened the car door.

XXXXX

The Mandarin Oriental is one of those over priced, over trendy hotels that most people stay at just so they can say they are staying there. Mercy didn't care about that. She stayed there for the Thai Massage, something that Roger, the terribly proper; uber rich, former ambassador/husband had turned her on to.

She walked around the room like she owned the place, going right for the refrigerator and taking out two really overpriced bottles of beer. Handing one to Sam, she walked out onto the balcony and sat.

The Miami skyline at night is a glittering mass of light and metal with some really bright color thrown in. It could be hypnotic if you let it be. It can also be downright distracting when the person you're trying to talk to is hypnotized by it.

"No offense, Merce," Sam began, "But are we just gonna sit here all night or are you gonna talk to me."

She turned to him, "Sorry. I forgot how pretty it looked."

"Yeah, from this side," he snorted, taking a drink.

"My my we're bitter."

Sam just shrugged and drank more beer.

"Okay," she said, taking a sip of her beer. "You want the story? Here it is. About a year after we got married, Roger was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. We did the whole regimen, chemo, drugs, everything. And after a very long year, he was pronounced cancer free. We decided to live our life like there was no tomorrow. We traveled, we partied, we went and did whatever we wanted. For six months it was great and then he got sick again. The cancer came back…he lasted four months after that." She took another drink, then, looking back out at the skyline, "For the last two months, he kept telling me that I needed to start again, that I needed to find a new man, that he wouldn't want me to be lonely. Then at the very end, he started telling me that I should call you."

Sam was falling for the whole story, until she threw that nugget in. That one went too far.

"Me?" he laughed.

"Believe it or not, yes."

Apparently, she was telling the truth. Sam still wasn't ready to believe it.

"Why would he tell you to call me?"

Mercy didn't answer, didn't even look like she was thinking of one.

"I asked you a question," Sam repeated, "Why did your husband tell you to call me?"

Her voice was quiet, "Because even Roger knew that I should have stayed with you."

"But you didn't."

"Come on, Sam. I wanted out. You were still in deep, you couldn't help me. Roger was the perfect doorway out of the Agency."

"Wait a minute; you're admitting that you married him just to get out."

"You make it sound like I used him. I didn't! It wasn't that way at all. I cared for him…a lot. And yes, I loved him…" She looked away. "Just not in the same way I loved you."

"Love is a subjective thing," he dryly returned.

Sam was holding his ground, staying tough, not letting her admission of love break him down. Until she worked those sad eyes on him and gave him one of those dramatic sighs made for tv movie heroines.

"This was a mistake," she said, standing up. "I shouldn't have come."

Sam finished his beer, waiting to see where she went next. He was surprised by her direction.

"You were the one who told me that if it ever ended between Roger and I, all I would have to do is call. You were the one who said that, Sam. The same night you said you'd always love me. Guess that all changed, huh?"

"Oh, no," he said, standing. "Do not turn this on me. You left, not me."

"I told you why I left, I told you that I still loved you and you told me…"

"I know what I told you!" he snapped, wishing she didn't look so damn sexy.

"And did you mean it?' she challenged, staring him down.

The stood, toe to toe, squaring off like a couple of prizefighters. If Sam was standing toe to toe with some piece of hired muscle, my money would be squarely on Sam. Sure, he was older, but he also knew how to fight dirty.

But Sam wasn't squared off against any hired muscle. This situation was much worse. He was squared off against a hot redhead who not only had a very steamy history with him, but also didn't give in to any of his slick lines or moves. She didn't have to; she'd been one of the very few women who'd ever seen Sam Axe cast aside the whole lothario façade. And she was actually coming back for more.

"Tell me, Sam," she coldly said, "Did you mean it?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Damnit, Mercy, you know I did."

"And I'm back," she said, with a smile, "And it can be just as good as before…even better. Come on, we're both out and I am one very, very, rich bitch…." She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. "We can go where we want, do what we want…" She kissed him a bit more surely.

Sam was losing this battle, but his pride wouldn't let him just roll over and play dead. In a really bad attempt to sound bitter he said, "So I'm just supposed to forget about the fact that you left me for Roger?"

But Mercy was good and she was on the trail of something she wanted. Any one who'd ever worked with or against her knew just how much of a bulldog she could be, especially when she wanted something.

"I came back, Sam," she practically purred, "You told me you'd be here and here I am. Let me make it up to you…"

He kissed her roughly, taking her off guard, but just for a moment. She wrapped herself around him and returned the kiss.

Backing her to the bed, he said, "You can start making it up to me now…"

As she fell back onto the snow white duvet cover, she gave a throaty laugh. "I hope you took your Viagra, because I've got a lot of making up to do…"

"I will not, do not, and have never needed Viagra," he said, between kisses.

"Prove it," she challenged.

And for the rest of the night and into the morning, my friend Sam did just that.


	2. Cuba in the 1990's

Cuba in the late 90's was an interesting place. After the fall of the Soviet Union, the Cuban economy was dead in the water. So Castro opened the door a crack and started to allow Cuban citizens small luxuries, like the almighty US dollar. Foreign businesses began to return and so did the tourist trade. Of course, as the tourist trade grew, so did the drug market, which is what brought me to Cuba in the late 1990's.

I was following a drug kingpin named Paco Escobar. So was another young spy named Mercedes Devereaux. Spy circles are close and anyone who knew their job knew who the other operators were. Mercy and I had crossed paths before. She was good, ruthless, and her good looks didn't hurt either. When we bumped into each other in Havana and realized we were on the trail of the same dealer, we decided to pool our resources and work together.

Which was how we ended up posing as Jack and Marie Douglas, obscenely wealthy American tourists with a drug habit and a lot of wealthy friends who also had drug habits. We checked into an ultra pricey hotel and played tourist.

In a week, we'd managed to work ourselves in with the hotel staff, who put us in touch with the local coke dealer. After making two small purchases and raving about his product, Mercy mentioned that we had lots of wealthy friends who would appreciate this type of quality merchandise. And, as we had our own jet, transporting the merchandise wouldn't be a problem.

Our local dealer was immediately impressed by the offer and ran off to tell the higher ups. Less than two hours later, he contacted us to set up a meeting with Paco Escobar's brother, Jonny.

It was at this point that Jack and Marie Douglas popped up on the radar of military intelligence, who were policing the area, looking for just this type of bad American. Enter Sam Axe, ex Navy SEAL, current freelancer for Naval Intelligence and all around "bad ass spy". Or at least that's how he described himself when I'd met him two years prior.

Some how, Marie Douglas jumped to the top of Sam's priority list. It wasn't surprising considering she was a sexy redhead with an attitude, something Sam Axe never could resist. And oddly enough, Sam just happened to be tailing her whenever she was alone.

Of course, Mercy picked up on it and mentioned that there was some guy following her. I thought she was being paranoid, since I never saw him. This set her off and she made it her mission to figure out who this guy was. She started off by purposely going off alone to draw him out.

I tried to tell her not to do it, but it was kinda like trying to stop a tidal wave. She just rolled over top of me and went out anyway, wearing an incredibly sexy black dress, high heels, and her trusty Sig P228 in a thigh holster. To this day, I still don't know how she managed to walk like that with the Sig between her legs.

Sam fell right into her trap and followed her out of the hotel and through the busy streets of Havana. She led him down an alley that she'd scoped out earlier. By this point, Sam was so fascinated by the way Mercy's curves filled out that little black dress, that he actually forgot all of his "bad ass spy" training and followed her down that alley. Realization of his error came when he found himself face to barrel with her Sig.

"Whoa there, Hot Stuff," he said, holding up his hands, "Put away the fire power."

Mercy didn't budge. Instead, with a deadly calm voice she said, "Who are you?"

"Me?" he casually said, "I'm just a guy with a thing for red heads."

"Bullshit," she countered, removing the safety from the Sig. "I can tell you're not CIA and Interpol doesn't use Americans in Cuba. My guess is Military Intelligence."

"Good guess, for an American tourist," he snorted, "Unless, that's not who you really are."

Mercy laughed, but didn't lower her weapon. "Oh yeah, you're Military. Otherwise, we'd know each other. Or at least you'd know who I was."

"And who would that be?" he tried.

She didn't bite, "You first."

"Sam Axe, Naval Intelligence," he said, "And you are?"

She lowered her gun and walked to him, her eyes trained on the end of the alley. "Marie Douglas, US Citizen."

He followed her eyes and noticed a man watching them. Catching on quickly, he grabbed her by the arm and roughly pressed her to the wall while loudly saying, "Okay, Marie Douglas, US Citizen, who's your US buyer?"

"I'm not telling you anything!" she yelled back as he pressed her face to the wall. Quietly, she said, "My name is Mercedes Devereaux. I'm CIA and we're trailing Paco Escobar. We're almost there. If don't screw this up, I'll let you in."

Sam held her to the wall as she tried to struggle, "It's a deal," he quietly said.

"Meet me at the Cabo de los Gatos tonight at 11."

"11," he agreed. "Now…pretend to kick me in the groin, and then run off. Remember, I said PRETEND to kick me in the groin."

Hiding a smile, Mercy continued to struggle and then placed a way too close kick to Sam's upper thigh. He let her go and doubled over in mock pain while she ran off.

Little did either of them know, but that meeting was the start of Sam's last truly meaningful relationship.

XXXXX

All spies can read people, even when those people think they've got you fooled. Good spies can read them even when they've fooled themselves.

It didn't take a good spy to pick up that Sam was seriously attracted to Mercy. Despite the way he greeted me like an old friend, I knew he was mildly disappointed when she didn't come alone and slightly more disappointed to find out she was working with me.

I expected Sam's reaction. I didn't expect Mercy's. I knew her well enough to know that when she was in the thick of an undercover operation, she was all business. Any seductive, flirty behavior was only for the benefit of her cover and nothing more. I know, I'd seen her turn it on and off like a light switch.

Yet, there she sat, flirting with Sam. Sure it was subtle, but the whole looking up at him with those her brown eyes and laughing at his jokes added up to flirting. No matter how she tried to deny it.

After filling Sam in on the case so far and deciding how he would play into this going forward, we broke at nearly one. By the time we left the Cabo, Sam was fully on board, not only as our slightly shady, opportunistic, American pilot, but also as a real distraction for Mercy.

It didn't seem bad at first. We brought Sam into our meeting with Jonny and he fit in fine. Since Mercy and I were pretending to be married, there were quite a few public displays of affection between us. There were no feelings to back them up on either side, but we did look authentic enough to convince Jonny Escobar that we were a couple in love. As for the rest? We were able to drop enough names and discuss enough friends with money that he decided to give us a chance with a small shipment.

While Jonny went off to make arrangements on his end, we returned to the hotel to call our contacts and set up the other operatives who would pose as our friends and buyers. Everything was set for our first pick up at 8 am the next morning, when, to our surprise, Paco himself called and invited Mercy, Sam, and me for dinner at Taberna de la Muralle.

I knew we were heading for trouble when Mercy walked out of the bathroom wearing this slinky, low cut white dress, with her hair all down and curly. Had we really been married, I'm not sure I would have let her walk out the door looking that hot. But, we weren't, so I didn't say a word.

Sam, on the other hand, said enough for both of us. It started with the wolf whistle when we met him in the hotel lobby and lasted the entire cab ride to the restaurant. Mercy was actually falling for it, too. Until we reached the restaurant and covers were resumed. I don't know if it was my imagination or I really was getting dirty looks from Sam every time Mercy kissed me.

Apparently, we convinced Paco that we were who we said we were and he sweetened the deal a bit by offering us some coke to share in his limo outside. Sam brushed it off saying he had to fly in the morning and Paco bought it. Mercy and I, well, we had to do the good old fake snort and brush. Thankfully, Sam provided enough distraction so that Paco and Jonny didn't pick up on it.

When we returned to the hotel, we all went back to our suite to go over details for the big drug transport. Once we had it down, I said good night to Sam then went to take a shower.

"So," Sam said, the moment I was out of the room. "I gotta tell you. You looked amazing tonight."

"Sweet talker," Mercy replied with a laugh.

"I mean it," he insisted. "It was really hard to sit there and act like I wasn't digging you…"

She took a step closer, "I noticed."

"Did you now?" Sam asked, pulling her into his arms.

"This isn't good," she said, as they kissed. "This really isn't good."

"I dunno," he said with a deeper kiss, "I think it's pretty damn good."

"Sam, Michael's in the bathroom."

"Yeah, I know," he said, stepping away from her.

"Tomorrow night in Miami…after we deliver the coke, we don't come back til the next morning," she smiled, wheels turning. "The Escobars won't be there…we can ditch Michael. Nobody will know…"

"I like the way you think." He leaned in and took another kiss. "Until tomorrow night."

"Yeah," she smiled, "Until tomorrow night."

I walked out of the bathroom as Mercy was closing the door. "Tell me you're not falling for Sam."

"I wouldn't say falling for him," she shrugged, "But he definitely has possibilities."

"Merce…"

"I'm a big girl, Michael," she dismissed, "And my head is totally and completely in the game."

I gave her a look that told her I didn't believe it in the least and she picked right up on it.

"Okay, okay, so I'll admit, I'm attracted to him. But it's probably just some pent up sexual thing. We're gonna meet up in Miami tomorrow night. I'm sure that will take care of it for both of us and then it'll be business as usual."

"And it it's not?"

"Michael, come on. You know me by now. It will be, I promise," she winked. "I'm going to get some sleep. Relax…I promise. After tomorrow night…It's a done deal."

With that, she walked into the bedroom and closed the door. I knew damn well it wasn't a done deal. It hadn't even started.


	3. How Could You Bring Me Here?

I wasn't surprised when Mercy's white Jag pulled up in front of my place the next morning. What did surprise me was that Sam was alone in the car. As I stood there, eating my yogurt, I watched him walk to the door, flipping the key around his finger and whistling.

"Was that Sam getting out of a Jag?" Fiona asked, as I opened the door.

"It was," I said, as Sam walked in.

"Good Morning, Michael, my friend," he cheerfully said. "Good Morning, Fiona."

I hadn't mentioned the events of Sam's night to Fi, so the curiosity was killing her. "Who'd you steal the Jag from?"

With a swagger that told me that last night went exactly as I'd thought it would, he returned, "I didn't steal it. It belongs to an old friend of mine."

Fi laughed. "Come on, Sam. I doubt you have an old friend who can afford that car, let alone one who'd let you drive it."

I decided to jump in and stop the discussion before they drew blood, "Where is Mercy this morning?"

"Thai massage at the Mandarin Oriental."

Fi kept pushing. "Does she know you have her car?"

"She gave me the keys."

"Wow, she must be a looker because she obviously isn't too bright…"

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. I didn't need to referee a battle this morning. "She's ex CIA. Mercy Devereaux…"

Fi knew the name, most spies did. "Mercy Devereaux? You slept with Mercy Devereaux?"

Helping himself to a cup of coffee, Sam smiled, "Several times."

"Wait a minute, Mercy Devereaux was one of the best. What the hell is she doing with you?"

"Oh, Fi, that hurt," he laughed. "We've known each other for years."

"You worked with her?"

Knowing that it was driving her mad, he sipped his coffee and nodded. Fi gave up on getting her answers from Sam and turned her wrath on me.

"We worked with Mercy a few times," I explained, "She and Sam had a thing."

"A thing?"

"A thing," I shrugged.

Frustrated as all hell, she glared at Sam, "A thing?"

"A thing," he agreed.

"But she got out and married that Ambassador from England…Roger Devine," Fi protested. "So it couldn't have been much of a thing."

"Roger's dead," I offered, hoping Sam would pick up and finish the story.

"I know. I saw it on television."

What? Did everybody but me see this on television?

Finally, Fi put the pieces together. "You mean to tell me, her rich husband kicked the bucket and she came down here to find you?"

"Give the lady a prize," was Sam's smart return.

Fi sat down hard on a kitchen chair, looking as if she just lost her puppy.

"What's that look for?" Sam asked.

"Mercy Devereaux was a legend," she explained, sounding really upset. "I mean, she was cold, hard, ruthless. And now I find out she had a thing for Sam." She shook her head.

Sam's phone rang; he looked at the read out and said, "That's her." Flipping open the phone he said, "Hello, Giggles."

"Giggles?" Fiona said, looking as if she might throw up.

I shrugged, but my attention was focused on Sam. By the look on his face, something was not right. As a matter of fact, something was very wrong.

"Stay right where you are," he said into the phone, "No, Merce, I said wait for us to get there….I know you're not afraid of any piss ant jerks who don't even know how to toss a room, but do me a favor and sit tight…okay, we'll be there asap." He flipped the phone shut and looked at me.

"Who tossed her room and what the hell were they looking for?" Fi asked, standing up.

"She doesn't know," he shrugged, "I'm heading over there."

Of course, we followed him, it's what we did.

XXXXX

When we got to Mercy's room at the Mandarin, we found her sitting on the bed, her Sig in her hand, looking about as pissed as I'd ever seen her.

"Did you have to bring a posse?" she asked Sam, after letting us into the room.

"We didn't exactly know what we'd be walking into," he explained, "You okay?"

Mercy didn't answer; she was too busy studying Fi, who in turn was studying her. They stood toe to toe, sizing each other up.

"Mercy Devine," Mercy announced.

"Fiona Glenanne," Fiona answered.

"Claws in, Ladies," I said, drawing black looks from both women. I tried not to think about the fact that either one of them could quite easily kill me and focused on the task at hand. "What were they looking for?"

"I have no clue," she asked, giving one more withering glare to Fi before looking at me. "I have nothing with me."

"But you do have things people might be looking for?"

"I was a spy, Michael. Don't you have things that people might be looking for?"

"Actually, Mercy, I don't." I didn't. Really.

"Who knew you were coming to Miami?" Sam asked.

"Nobody."

We all looked at her.

"Okay, the gardener knew, so did the maid."

"You have a gardener and a maid?" Sam asked, drawing a black look from both Fiona and Mercy.

I kept pushing. "Can we stick with the program here? Who else knew?"

"Just the gardener and the maid…and anyone else they may have told. But even if I have anything they may want, why would I bring it to Miami?"

"Let me put out feelers and see who's been asking around about you," Sam said, slipping into his game face, as he flipped open his phone and walked out onto the balcony.

"We need to put this place back in order," Mercy tiredly said, straightening the shade on the lamp next to the bed. "We do not want the maid to stumble on this and call the police. Not until we figure out who's looking for me and what they want from me."

"Good idea," I agreed. "Let's get this stuff put away. We should check you out of here and somewhere safe."

"And where would that be?"

"I know just the place," I smiled.

XXXXX

"Thanks for letting me stay, Mrs. Westen," Mercy said, sounding like my third grade girlfriend after a sleep over.

"Please, it's Madeline," Mom dismissed, waving her cigarette to dismiss the thought. "If Michael and Sam say you're in trouble…"

"I'm not sure it's trouble," Mercy went on, "But, I probably should lay low for a while. I just hate to put you out."

"It's not a problem, Michael has friends stay here from time to time…" she said, walking to the refrigerator.

Mercy looked at me, with a raise of her perfectly waxed brow and said, "You use your mother's place as a safe house?"

Before I could answer, Mom walked back into the room.

"I put clean sheets on the bed in the guest room," she advised. "It's not the Mandarin…"

"That's okay, Maddi," Sam said, with a wink to Mercy, "She can stay with me."

Mom's eyes grew wide, but only for a moment, then she had this strange little smirk on her face, and then, she laughed.

"Nice try, Sam, I almost fell for that," she laughed.

"Wait a minute," Mercy said, giving Sam a look somewhere between disbelief and disgust, "You're staying here? Michael's mom is the "friend" you're staying with?"

"Sam didn't tell you that?" I asked, knowing he didn't, but wanting to get the meltdown over with.

"No," she said, standing up and stepping over to Sam, "How could you bring me here?"

"Wait a minute, Hot Stuff…" Nickname number two, usually softened things up. This time, not so much. "I told you it's not that way."

"And you," she spun on me, "You didn't see a problem with this arrangement?"

"Mercy," Mom said, stepping into the fray, "I think you've got this all wrong…"

"No offence, Madeline, but I've known Sam for way too many years to come to any other conclusion."

Mom laughed and said, "It's the wrong conclusion. Sam's staying here, but only because he's got nowhere else to stay. And, since he blew up half of my house, he's fixing it for me. But trust me; my house is the only thing he's working on."

I could see the wheels turning in Mercy's head. She wanted to believe my mother, but she knew Sam too well to totally trust it.

"She's telling the truth, Mercy," Fi said, then with a smile, "Trust me, I would take great pleasure in watching Sam squirm if it was a lie, but unfortunately, it's not."

Mercy looked at Sam, who shrugged and said, "Now do you believe me?"

Before she could answer, his cell phone went off, flipping it open, he barked "Yeah?" and walked out of the room.

"Sorry about that, Madeline," Mercy said, "But…"

"Don't worry about it," Mom smiled, then looked at me, "I like this one. She's got brains and a back bone. Now, about that guest room?"

"Show me the way," Mercy laughed, following Mom back through the house.


	4. Giggles

Miami – 1998

With our first drug shipment loaded onto "our" private jet and Sam at the controls, we left Havana in the middle of a brewing thunderstorm. I should have known that it was a sign of things to come.

When we landed on a small runway outside of Miami, our "buyers" were waiting for us, ready to take the drugs from the plane and deliver them to some undisclosed location where the CIA would do something with them. Probably sell them right back to the Cubans in some other operation. It didn't really matter at the time. As long as we got rid of them.

We didn't count on finding two of Escobar's men waiting with our "buyers". Seems Paco's trust level wasn't as high as we thought it was and he wanted to make sure we really had buyers and that we really got the money like we said we would. So, Rico and Mickey were going to stay with us until we returned to Havana the next morning.

Lucky for us, we'd had Plan B ready and there was a stereotypical brief case full of cash waiting for us. We handed it over to the Escobar Boys and made our way to "our house", a Company owned mansion that Mercy had arranged for, as part of Plan B. Of course, the staff was composed completely of other operatives, right down to the gardener who was trimming "our" corkscrew shaped bushes when we arrived.

Mercy strolled in the front door like she owned the place and immediately told "Luisa our maid" to get us all a round of drinks and be ready to make dinner for five instead of two tonight. "Luisa" was also to prepare three of our eight bedrooms for our guests.

That task accomplished, Mercy gave me a peck on the cheek and excused herself to get changed, leaving me alone to keep up the ruse. I played it off well, suggesting that Escobar's men drop their bags off upstairs and take advantage of our hospitality. I went on about the pool, the beach, the Wave Runners, and the game room.

Apparently, these two weren't very high up on the Escobar food chain, as their eyes lit up at the mention of the Wave Runners. They were more than happy to take advantage of our hospitality. "Luisa" escorted them to the guest rooms, leaving Sam and I alone.

"So now we've got to babysit Heckle and Jeckle all night?" he winced, clearly not happy with this turn of events.

"With any luck, they'll tire themselves out with the Wave Runners and the Margaritas we'll serve them before dinner and be passed out by sunset."

"Ah, those special Margaritas of yours?" Sam knowingly said, picking up that we'd be slipping our friends something to keep them sleeping all night. "Those are some kick ass beverages, my friend."

"And don't you forget it," I laughed, watching as Sam's head snapped to the stairs. I followed his gaze to find Mercy walking down the stairs in a bright blue bikini covered up by some kind of wrap around her waist.

"If we've got to sit here until tomorrow, I plan on taking advantage of the pool," she smiled, slipping on a pair of shades. "Anybody coming with?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Sam grinned, slipping an arm around her waist.

"Be mindful of our guests," I cautioned, feeling the heat between them. They needed to keep their heads in the game and right now, I wasn't so sure that's where their heads were going.

"Darling," she purred, kissing me on the lips, "I am always mindful of our guests. Don't you worry about that," She then turned to Sam, slipped her arm through his and said, "I think our friend Sam deserves to join us by the pool and have a nice drink, don't you?"

Our impromptu pool party lasted most of the afternoon, until I decided I'd had enough of entertaining the Escobar boys and whipped up a bunch of my "famous" Margaritas. Being highly macho, Rico and Mickey didn't dare turn down my offer of an extra shot in their drinks. Little did they know that their extra shot was of Midazolam, where the rest of us had tequila.

The drug took a while to work, allowing them to have dinner and one more, non spiked drink. We sat back on the veranda after dinner; admiring the beach view and listening to our increasingly groggy guests tell tales of their adventures while we acted suitably impressed. Of course, they bought our act, they were too full of themselves not to.

After the third or fourth story involving guns and women, Mickey started to crash. Sam, being the buddy he was, helped him up to the guest room, making it just in time for him to pass out. Rico started fading shortly there after, but had the common sense to make his own way upstairs. He passed Sam on the way.

"Well, looks like our friends are down for the count," he laughed, sitting on the love seat next to Mercy and slipping his arm around her shoulder.

I knew where this evening was heading and even though it was early, I figured I'd make my exit. "Well," I said standing up, "I think I'm going to head up to bed."

"At 10:30?" Mercy asked, sipping her drink. "The night is young."

"I'm sure you two can carry on without me," I returned. "You'll watch out for my wife, won't you, Sam?"

"You just leave her to me, Michael," he returned with a leer, "She'll be in good hands."

"Make sure you're both ready to go in the morning. Remember, you're flying us back to Havana."

"I know, I know…"

By the way he was looking at her, I consider myself lucky that he waited until I went inside before putting the moves on her. I knew Mercy wouldn't be coming back to our room anytime soon, so instead of sleeping on the floor, like we'd arranged, I took the bed. If and when she did show up, she probably would just sleep on the floor. Unfortunately, the bed was right next to the open window above the pool, and sound carried. A lot.

"I thought he'd never leave," Sam said, not long after I slipped into bed.

"Hold on there, Romeo," Mercy laughed. "I need to get out of the Marie Douglas mind set…"

"I think I can help with that," he replied, leaning in for a kiss.

She accepted the kiss and pulled back with a smile. "That's a good start. Why don't we go for a swim?"

"Swim? In the pool?"

"Unless you want to brave the ocean…" she said, slipping away from him and standing up. She untied the wrap around her waist and tossed it onto the love seat. "Come on, Sam…" She reached behind herself and unsnapped the top of her bikini, then tossed it after the wrap.

Sam didn't respond, he just sat there with a smile, watching as she stepped out of the bottoms and tossed them onto the love seat. With a wink, she turned and jumped into the pool and swam across the length and back before breaking the surface and leaning on the edge.

"So," she smartly said, "Are you gonna sit there with your jaw hanging all night or are you gonna join me?"

"I was enjoying the view," he replied, stripping off his clothes and joining her in the pool. He pulled her into his arms, "But I think I like the view here better."

"Yeah, I can definitely tell that you like the view," she said, slipping her arms around his neck and laying on a killer lip lock.

"Yeah I do," he returned the kiss, "And I don't see you complaining either."

"Not yet…"

"Trust me, Hot Stuff, you won't be complaining…"

"Do me a favor?"

"Name it."

"Shut up and kiss me?"

He did what she asked and the battle of wills began. There are many reasons why two spies shouldn't get together. Besides the obvious danger, exposure, and loss of edge, there is the problem of two super sized egos crashing together in a moment of passion.

The problem with Sam and Mercy wasn't that they were both totally into each other; it was that they both had to be in control. Neither one of them wanted to be the first to give up control, at least that first time around and they turned it into a proverbial pissing contest. Neither one was going to give in first and set the tone for the rest of whatever type of relationship this was going to turn into.

And their battle of wills lasted long into the night. It's a good thing the Escobar boys had my special Midazolam Margaritas, because with the commotion they created in the pool, all of our covers would have been blown.

Sam gave in first, admitting that he'd met his match. My money had been on him holding out, but by the time he finally said "Uncle", I didn't even care who won any more. I was just getting tired of listening to it!

As I closed my eyes and tried not to eavesdrop on them, I heard giggling. Mercy's giggling. It took me a moment to be sure that's what I heard, but sure enough, what ever Sam was doing or saying to her was making her giggle. Just when I thought I'd heard it all, Mercy Devereaux, was giggling like a school girl. For Sam Axe. This could not end up good. Not at all.


	5. Hello Mommy Dearest

Sam's contacts didn't turn up anything of any use. Other than a credit check done when she bought the Jag three months ago, nobody had been even thinking of her. This meant one of two things, either the room was tossed by a thief who was after cash and jewelry, or whoever was looking for her was so good that they were above Radar. We knew better than to think it was the first one.

So we sat at my mother's house, trying to come up with a plan. Sometime around six, Mom broke out the delivery menus and after we settled on Mykonos' delivery, she mentioned to Sam that the new windows he'd put in were leaking, which was how Sam and I ended up working on the windows while Mom, Fi, and Mercy sat back, had a mojito, and waited for dinner.

"So, you used to work with Michael?" Mom asked, casually.

"Many years ago," Mercy replied, equally as casually.

Mom was undaunted. "But you've stayed in touch?"

"Not really," she went on. "I didn't know he was still hanging out with Sam until I showed up here."

"And the only reason you came to Miami..."

"Was to visit Sam," Mercy concluded.

"Yes," Fi added, "Mercy and Sam had a thing."

"A thing?" Even Mom couldn't believe it.

"A thing," Fi nodded, as they both looked at Mercy.

Mercy returned their look, "What?"

"I just can't believe that you had a thing with Sam," Fi admitted.

"I did…guess I still do. My husband passed away. He had pancreatic cancer. Towards the end, he was actually encouraging me to come down here."

Fi didn't try to hide the disbelief. "Wait a minute. You're telling me a British Ambassador with more money than a small third world nation was encouraging you to come down here and find Sam?"

Mom answered her question, "You must've had one hell of a thing…"

"I can't explain it," Mercy said, getting that smile that women get when they talk about prom dresses, small children, and puppies. "I have a soft spot for him."

Before the interrogation could continue, dinner arrived. We ate a huge Greek feast, but still had no idea who was after Mercy. She tried to play it off, but I could see it was bugging her. She'd been out of the spy game long enough that she'd stopped spending every waking moment looking over her shoulder. The feeling was not one she wanted back.

Sam and I went back to the window, with some supervision by the girls. Mom and Fi kept up a steady stream of heckling, but Mercy got quieter as the night went on and eventually, she just walked out of the room. After she'd been gone for about 15 minutes, Sam decided it was time for a break and set off after her.

He found her in the guest room, cleaning her Sig.

"What's going on, Giggles?" he asked, sitting on the bed next to her.

"I am seriously wondering why I thought it would be a good idea to come to Miami," she admitted.

"I thought you wanted to see me," he tried, but she wasn't biting.

"I was out of the game, Sam….I come down here and it starts again," she said, not looking up from her work.

"You know as well as I do that you're never completely out of it, Merce."

"I know," she admitted, finally looking up at him, "But I had a good run where I didn't have to keep looking over my shoulder."

"But you came back."

"I know," she sniffed, "What's wrong with my head?"

"It's part of you. Just like its part of me…and Michael…and Fi…"

"I know you, Sam. You're still in somehow. You're still working for someone, aren't you?"

He nodded, "I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on Michael."

"He knows this?"

Sam nodded, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the sound of a 12 cylinder engine and then squealing tires cut him off.

"That's the Jag!" Mercy said, sliding a clip into the Sig and running out of the room.

By the time we made it out side, the Jag was down the street and all we saw were its tail lights.

"Son of a bitch!" Mercy growled. "They tossed my room, took my car…."

"This isn't professional," I decided, "This is personal."

"You're damn right it is," she hissed, as her cell phone rang. She flipped it open and growled, "Yea?"

"Hello, Mommy Dearest," began a familiar male voice.

"Roger?" Mercy snapped, recognizing the voice of Roger's son, Roger, Jr. "What the hell do you want?"

"You know what I want," he returned. "My inheritance."

"You got your inheritance. Your father left you 25% of everything he had."

"And you got the other 75%."

"I did," she said, then, narrowing her eyes, "You little piss ant, you tossed my room and stole my Jag, didn't you?"

"I did," he mockingly laughed. "And by the time you find me, your precious Jag will be on a cargo plane to Dubai."

In a voice that was so cold it gave me chills, she said, "Do you have any idea who you're playing with?"

"I have to wonder about that. See, I don't think you could have been that good if you could just walk away like you did. What were you really, Mercy? A secretary at the CIA?"

"Want to try me?" she seethed, but Sam took the phone from her.

"Look, Kid," he said, "I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Oh, wait, is this the old boyfriend? The washed up old spy that my dad told me stories about?"

"Washed up old spy?" Sam repeated, "Why you…"

Mercy took the phone back, "So, what's the point of this, Roger? You tossed my room and found nothing. You took my car…so what? What are you after?"

"I want it all, Mommy Dearest. The whole estate."

"And you think that by playing these juvenile games you're going to get it?"

"I'm not as dumb as you think," he smartly said, "I know what Dad's will said. If you kick the bucket before I do…"

"So you're going to kill me?" she laughed.

"I'm not that stupid, Mercy. If I kill you, I get nothing. But, there are enough people out there who would gladly do it for me…"

"You're sending hired muscle? I'll ask you again, have you forgotten who you're dealing with?"

"Hired muscle? I'm not that stupid. I was looking for your journals, Mercy…there are lots of people who would not only gladly take you out, but they'd pay me for the pleasure of doing it…"

"My journals? They don't contain anything except details of my life with your father…"

"Journals? You kept journals?" Fi asked, with that "lost my puppy" look again.

"Oh really?" Roger laughed, "Then why are they hidden?"

"Because maybe I don't want you pawing through them…you got nothing, Kid and you're not going to find them anyway," she said, but something about the look on her face told me she wasn't being totally truthful.

"If that's the way you want to play it, Mercy…" Roger said, "I'll be in touch…" He broke the connection.

"Son of a bitch just hung up on me!" she said, throwing her cell phone across the room.

"About those journals?" I asked.

"There really isn't anything in them that could get me killed," she replied,

"Then what was that look for?" Sam finally added.

"What look?"

"When you said it you did that thing you do with your eyes when you're lying…"

She glared at him, "If you must know, the only person they can really hurt is Roger. He wasn't the most ethical person in the world and towards the end; guilt got the best of him. He wanted me to record what he'd done…"

One look told me that Fi was tired of beating around the bush. "So, this means?"

"If those journals are exposed, no one will want to kill me, but Roger's fortune will probably disappear."

"All of it?"

"Anything that's not in my name. Although, I have been changing things over to my name…slowly…quietly…"

"And how much will you have left?" Sam asked, drawing another black look from Mercy.

"Enough to keep me happy for the rest of my life, but what Roger doesn't know is that the money he has will go too…"

"So, we sit back and let him take himself down," I said, knowing that it wouldn't be that easy. It never is.


	6. Back In Form and On the Hunt

Sanibel Island is known for its beautiful beaches and grand homes. The people who live there year round have money and know how to spend it.

Roger Devine had money – ill gotten money, but money all the same. So I wasn't surprised when we pulled up the palm lined driveway to Roger's pink stucco mansion.

I wasn't surprised by the marble entry way and its great, sweeping staircase. I wasn't even surprised by the huge living room with the marble fireplace. What did surprise me was the way the entire place had been tossed. It was sloppy, it was amateur, it was worse than the DEA and that's saying something. Obviously, Junior was looking for those journals and despite the fact that, if he got his way, this house and all of its contents would be his, it didn't seem to matter.

"Look at this mess," Mercy finally said, walking numbly into the mess. I watched as shock turned into anger.

"The journals aren't even here, are they?" I asked, following her into the dining room.

"They are," she replied, an evil smile taking over her face, "But Roger and his punk ass friends were too freaking reactionary. If they would have just stopped and thought about it…maybe even looked at their surroundings, they'd have found them."

She walked out onto the large terrace that over looked the canal. It was a beautiful view. By Mercy's reaction, I knew the journals were out here, so I took a quick look around. I passed over the chairs and their cushions that had been torn off and cut open, and didn't even glance at the tables that had been toppled. No, instead, my eyes went to the two waist high stone lions that sat at the top of the stairs.

"They're hollow," I decided aloud, and she nodded. Junior really was a moron; they would have been my first target.

Marcy shoved one of the lions over, letting it hit the stone terrace with a resounding crack. She knelt on the terrace and slipped her hand into the stature, pulling out 2 thick, spiral bound books in a plastic bag.

"There's one in the other lion, too," she said, walking over and repeating the process.

After we retrieved all three notebooks, Mercy took a few minutes to pack two large suitcases of belongings before leaving the mansion that had been her home for the past five years. She slipped on her sunglasses as we pulled the door shut and didn't look back.

We made the trip back to Miami in about 2 ½ hours, while discussing my surprise that Junior didn't have us followed or at least have someone staking out the house. Mercy didn't have much to say about it, except that Roger was about as stupid as they come.

Once we got to my mother's, Fi, Sam, and I each grabbed a journal and started reading. Mercy took up Mom's offer of a margarita and actually asked to bum a cigarette or two. No matter how much she tried to hide the fact that this was wearing on her, the cigarettes were the "tell", the sign, no matter how small or inconsequential, that gave away her true emotions.

"Holy shit," Sam said, for at least the fifth time in the half hour we'd been reading.

"I was thinking the same thing," Fi agreed, looking up at Mercy, "Did you know about all of this?"

Mercy shook her head, "Not until he dictated it to me."

Sam was usually good at saying the wrong thing, and now was definitely no exception. Looking up from the book, he said, "How do we know it wasn't the morphine talking?

"I did some research," Mercy admitted, dragging the life out of her cigarette and reaching for another. "The pieces all fit."

Casually, Sam reached out and took the back before she could pull out another. The glare she gave him set a chill down my spine, but he didn't bat an eye. Surprisingly, she didn't try to take them back, she didn't even give him a caustic remark, she just shrugged. That was "Tell #2".

"I'm going to call a friend of mine at Langley," she explained, "And turn the books over to him."

Sam decided to prove my saying the wrong thing theory again and said, "Are you sure the Company's the right way to go with this?"

This time, Mercy's glare actually did instill a bit of fear in its intended target and he back pedaled, "I'm just saying that if you give it to a spy…"

"Brandt Wilson is the only person I trust to take care of this like I would."

Her tone left no room for questions, but that didn't stop Fi.

"Brandt Wilson?" she asked, "I've never heard of him."

"He's a high level desk jockey at Langley. I trained with him," she picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on her jeans, "He was my inside man for years."

Fi nodded. Knowing better than to push it, she went back to reading.

As I continued to read, I watched Mercy out of the corner of my eye. She was nervous, her eyes darting between the three of us as she sipped her second margarita of the night. I don't think I'd ever seen her look nervous.

Mom even picked up on it and casually asked Mercy to go into the kitchen and get some chips and salsa for us. Mercy, grateful for something to do, didn't bat an eye and walked into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of the room, Mom turned on Sam.

"If you really care about that girl, I would suggest getting her out of here for a while."

"What do you suggest, Ma?" I asked, "She's got a target on her back."

But Mom wasn't phased, "Come on, Michael. I'm not a spy, but common sense tells me that if its those books they want, and they believe she's the only one who knows where they are, they aren't gonna kill her til they find them."

Sometimes, it was hard to argue with my mother's logic. I turned to Sam and backed her up, "Why don't you take her to the Salty Dog?"

The Salty Dog was one step below a biker bar, not the kind of place you take a girl when you're tying to impress her. But it was definitely the kind of place you'd take her when you want to keep her safe from a punk like Roger, Jr.

Sam winced, not catching the logic. "Mikey, as much as I love the place, it's a pit."

"A pit with good food," Fi mused, "And a pit that Junior wouldn't dirty his Gucci loafers by walking into it."

Nodding, Sam agreed. "Okay…"

I knew by his reluctance to move that he had no cash on hand, so I reached into my pocket and peeled off a couple of bills.

"You'll get it back, Mikey," he said, slipping the cash in his pocket and handing me the notebook. With a smile at Mom, he walked into the kitchen.

"So," Mercy said, screwing the lid back onto the jar of salsa, "Did Michael send you in here to diffuse me before I went nuclear?"

"Sorta," he smiled, "Let's go out for a while."

"Go out?"

"Yeah, they'll be reading for a while. Let's go grab a beer and some dinner."

"Sam," she began, but he took her by the shoulders and steered her to the back door.

"Come on, we gotta eat and I know this place that has amazing crab cakes…"

XXXXX

Two crab cakes, a pitcher of beer, and some fries later, Mercy had relaxed but was still not her usual smart ass self. This bothered Sam, a lot. He'd never seen her like this and hoped that this was only a passing phase.

Mercy picked up on his concern and spoke. "It'll pass, Sammy," she lightly said, drawing a smile from him.

No one, with the exception of his grandmother, ever got away with calling him "Sammy". No one, that is, but Mercy.

"I hope so, cuz I gotta tell ya. I'm worried about you."

"Yeah, well, I've been through a lot in the past few days. And unlike when I was still in the game, this is all personal, all related directly to me, all caused by and for me, and when it's all said and done, it will all effect me."

"Don't worry about the money," he tried, taking her hand. "You'll get by. I'll do what I can to help."

She shook her head, "I've got enough squirreled away to keep us both happy for the rest of our lives."

She looked out the window, suddenly drawn to something out on the water that Sam couldn't see.

Sometimes, Sam can be the most insensitive jerk and others, well; he can manifest some sort of sensitivity. Usually, enough to sway the ladies into believing that he really cared about them. With Mercy, I discovered, his sensitivity was honest and he really did care.

"You're feeling guilty about taking the charity money, aren't you?"

"Not one dime of what I took is dirty. I took Devine family money. Funds that had been around prior to Roger's skimming, funds that hadn't been touched in years, and I did it smart. I moved things from one off shore account to another. It's all legal, it's all documented. There's a very well planned paper trail that keeps me removed from all of it."

"Then what has you so upset?"

"To a lot of people, Roger was a great guy. He was kind, benevolent, always helping charities. Yeah, he skimmed money from those charities, but he helped a lot of people too. Now, no one will remember that about him. He'll forever be known as the Ambassador who stole money from poor people."

It was at that point that Sam realized that Mercy really had loved Roger. Of course, this gave him conflicting emotions. He was grateful that she wasn't using the old guy, but also strangely jealous of what they had.

"Don't get your feathers ruffled, Sam. I did love Roger. But I loved him like a good friend. He was a decent guy and treated me right."

"I'm glad he did," Sam admitted, then sounding almost embarrassed, "Cuz I could never have given you all the stuff he did."

"I don't care about that stuff. You know that." Seeing the doubt in his eyes, she tried another line. "Want to know what upset me most today? Knowing that I'd never spend another moment in that house. Not because of the furniture, or the Jacuzzi, or the pool, but because it was the first place in my adult life where I truly felt safe. I could drop my guard and not have to worry about a thing."

"And that," he quietly said, "Is something you'll never get with me."

"I know. But I came here anyway." She stood up and held out her hand, "Think we can take a walk on the beach before we go back to Madeline's?"

"For someone with a target on your back, you're pretty daring," he teased, standing and taking her hand.

They walked down to the beach and sat on a rock jetty. For a while, they sat in silence, watching as the tide came up and the waves crashed against the rocks, while a beautiful sunset was taking place in the back ground. It was the kind of scene that postcards were made of and it was hard to pull your eyes from it, but when Mercy finally did, she wasn't surprised to find Sam watching her instead of the sunset.

"Find something interesting?"

"Yeah, you," he returned, uncharacteristically unable to come up with something slick.

Mercy let out something between a laugh and a giggle. "Oh, that was slick, Sammy."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, slipping his arms around her and pulling her close. "You never did fall for the slick stuff anyway."

"Nope," she slipped her arms around his neck, "But I did fall for the real Sam. You know the guy you hide so well?"

"Hide from everyone but you, you mean," he said, as he gave her a kiss.

"Yeah," she returned the kiss, "That guy."

Sam looked at her for a few moments and Mercy couldn't decide if his expression showed that he was about to say something serious or puke. When he finally spoke, she decided it was a mixture of both.

"Mercy, I still love you. Matter of fact, I think, that since you came back, I kinda remembered how much I love you, if that makes sense. But I can't give you that safe serene life that you had with Roger."

"I told you I don't want that," she honestly said, not surprising him as much as she thought she would. "I want to be back in the life…like you are, like Fi is. And…I want to be with you. But, know this…I do not share my man, so if I stay…and if we do this…there can be no more "Sam Time" with the ladies."

"With you here," he honestly said, "I don't need it." He kissed her deeply. "I'm not giving you a line here, Merce. You're all the woman I need."

She laughed, "I'm all you can handle."

Sam laughed with her, "That too."

She kissed him hard and full, and then pulled back, her tone all business, her eyes sharp. "Now that we've got that settled, let's get this crap with Junior put to bed" She stood up and brushed the sand off of her ass and looked down at him, expectantly. "Well? Come on. The sooner we settle this shit, the sooner we move on to happily ever after."

And just like that, Mercy Devine was back in form and on the hunt again. And Sam Axe couldn't be happier.


	7. Too Simple, Too Neat

**_A/N: A short little chapter to advance the story line. More is on the way, stay tuned...._**

By the time Mercy and Sam returned to the house, we'd finished reading through the journals. Roger Devine was a very creative man. He found ways to scam millions of dollars from various charities and do so unnoticed. Of course, he helped to raise way more than he took, but still, morally, what he did was wrong and that money did not belong to him. Nor did it belong to his son.

Although I didn't really agree with Mercy's decision to turn the journals over to the CIA, I couldn't come up with anything better and managed to convince Fi that this was the best course of action.

I supposed that having Sam take Mercy out of the house for a while was a good idea as well. When she left the house, Mercy was nervous, a former shell of the operative I used to know. When she returned, she had an entirely different outlook. Either she and Sam had one hell of a conversation or he slipped her some sort of mood altering drug. Either way, she had, as the pop song used to sing, "A new attitude."

We made plans for handling the journals and discussed what Junior might be doing at this very moment. The fact that we hadn't heard from him at all made us all a bit nervous. Sam made a few calls and put out feelers to find out where he might be holed up. Mercy did as well. We agreed to meet up at 10 the next morning at Carlito's for brunch and Fi and I left.

Something just didn't sit right with me about this whole thing. It was too simple, too neat, and Junior was way too absent. Little did I know that in the morning, Junior would be back with a vengeance and that he'd be bringing friends.

XXXXX

I ran into Fi in the parking lot of Carlito's and we walked in together. Mercy beat us there and we found her sitting at an outside table. She explained that Sam had received a call from a contact of his and was going to meet up with him. He didn't want her to go with him and he'd meet her at the restaurant by 9:45.

It was now 10:10. At first, we weren't too concerned, after all, since he "retired", Sam wasn't the most punctual person. But given the hinky feeling that we'd all been having for the past 24 hours, we knew things weren't right.

This was confirmed when Mercy's phone rang. It was Junior. Seems he was tired of waiting for us to get around to giving him the journals. He knew we had them and it was about time we handed them over. He wanted to meet Mercy to have her hand them over.

Mercy laughed and told him he had a better chance of seeing Jesus. Junior tried the soft sell approach. Seems that he had friends, very powerful friends, who really wanted him to get those books and the money that they would bring, and they were turning the screws on him.

She told him that she really felt sorry for him, but there was nothing she could do. He then threw in the clincher to their deal. He knew she'd respond just like that and had warned his friends. They, in turn, decided that they needed some insurance to make sure she kept up her part of the deal, so this morning, they wen tout and picked up a little "incentive" for her.

At that point, he put Sam on the phone. "Mercy?"

"Sam?" she said, unsure if it was really him or a good audio clip.

"It's me, Giggles."

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm not hurt any worse than I was back in 2003, when I rescued you from that whole deal on the airplane…"

Junior's voice came back on the line, "Okay, enough love chat…meet me at the Nikki Beach Club at 9 pm. Ask the doorman for my cabana number." Then, as an after thought, "Come alone and I'll let you leave with your friend. Bring any of your spy buddies with you and it will be my pleasure to waste this guy." With that, he hung up.

"He's got Sam," Fi said, with a bit of a snicker.

"Yeah," Mercy nodded, "I'm supposed to meet Junior at Nikki Beach at 9 pm." She shook her head, "Could he pick a trendier, busier place?"

"Mercy," I began, noticing the smirk on her face, "What did Sam say?"

"I asked if he was okay and he said he wasn't hurt any worse than he was back in 2003, when he rescued me from that whole deal on the airplane."

"Which means something to you, I hope?" Fi prompted.

"Back in 2003, we bumped into each other in Biscayne Bay. Seems we were both working the same Columbian drug runners and ended up at a party on this big old yacht. Things got a little hairy, Sam took a bullet to the shoulder, and he and I ended up swimming to Coconut Grove. Not an easy thing to do in a skin tight mini dress and heels."

"So, he's on a boat in Biscayne Bay…but which boat…"

"I can't be sure, but I'd look for a decent sized yacht, with blue stripes…"

"Okay, so, we'll head back to my place, pick up some C4 and head out to Biscayne Bay…" Fi excitedly said, the prospect of blowing stuff up pumping her adrenaline.

"C4?" Mercy winced, "Fi, Biscayne Bay's gotta be full of pleasure boats right now. Going in with explosions is going to bring us all kinds of notice that won't really help our stealth abilitites…"

"And what do you propose?" Fi asked, clearly not pleased with the lack of explosions that Mercy was suggesting.

"We go in quietly, do what we need to and get Sam out of there before Junior knows what even hit him."

"And how do we quietly board a boat in the middle of the afternoon?"

"From another boat," I decided, on board with Mercy's idea. "A disabled boat…with a couple of good looking women on board…"

Mercy smiled, "Guess I better find me a wig, huh?"

"And a bikini," I winked.

"We'll leave that to Fi," She laughed, "I'll go find a wig."

"I'd still rather have C4," Fi groused. "Besides, where can I hide a Glock when I'm wearing a bikini?"


	8. Hello Satan Spawn

Two hours and a few phone calls later, we were chugging across Biscayne Bay in a Chris Craft that looked as if it had seen better days. Of course, that was just the hull. The engines were brand new turbo charged engines that could have that little boat across the bay before any pissed off kidnappers could remove the safety from their guns.

We pulled up along side a small white yacht with blue stripes and made a big ruckus over the way our engine just stopped working. Of course, with Mercy and Fi both screaming at me, we immediately got the attention of the two very young men on the yacht.

They seemed particularly concerned for Fi's well being. I'm not sure if it had to do with the hysterical screaming, or the barely there bikini she was wearing, but either way, it didn't take them long to invite us aboard to call for maintenance and even stay for a drink.

Our hosts were Columbian; Mercy got that out of them right away. The taller one, whose neck was only slightly thicker than his thick necked companion, seemed to be particularly attracted to Mercy. This, I suppose, could have been from the serious flirting she was carrying on and the amazing cleavage that her one piece bathing suit gave her.

Both men kept a wary eye on me, which left Fi unguarded just log enough to slip some Midazolam into their drinks.

After quickly downing her drink, Mercy feigned a buzz and asked if she could use the bathroom. Already taken by the women, our hosts gladly explained that the bathroom was below deck. Thicker Neck offered to help her, but Mercy waved him off and went on her own.

Once she got below deck, she studied her surroundings. Walking through the galley, she found two doors. The first door was the bathroom. The second was locked. After walking into the bathroom, turning on the water and pulling the door closed behind her, she leaned against the door to the second room and listened.

"Sam?" she said, quietly. "You in there?" She listened, hearing some thrashing around. "Give me a second…" she said, pulling a hair pin from her hair and picking the lock. She quietly opened the door and gazed in to find Sam tied to a chair. She walked into the room and quietly pulled the door shut behind her. "Look at you," she softly said, noting the blood on his shirt over his right shoulder.

Through his gag, Sam tried to talk.

"Works better when I pull the gag off," she smartly said, untying the bandana that was used as a gag.

"Glad you got that hint," he said, as she untied his hands.

"How's the shoulder?"

"I'll live," he shrugged, gingerly moving his right arm. "Junior's not here."

"Figured that," she nodded. "He's probably already at Nikki Beach Club getting the party started."

Sam winced, "Could he have picked somewhere more public?"

"Yeah, I know," she studied him, deciding that he looked a bit too pale for her taste. "You gonna be able to hold your own out there or should I come back for you?"

"The day I can't hold my own is the day I hang it up," he smartly said, giving her a forceful kiss.

Mercy pulled back with a smile, "Yeah, you'll be okay. Come on, let's get out of here."

When they returned to the deck, Sam was surprised to find Fi tying our sleeping hosts to each other.

"Midazolam Margaritas?" he knowingly asked.

"Yeah," Fi groused, looking down at them. "It would have been so much more fun if we could have used a little C4."

"True," I agreed, starting the engines, "But then we wouldn't have this pretty boat to cruise up to Nikki Beach in."

"Cheer up, Fi," Mercy smiled, helping Sam to sit down, "Just think of the look on Junior's face when he sees this…" She walked over and stood next to them, planting her foot square on Thicker Neck's chest and holding out her cell phone. "Here, take a picture for Junior."

Fi took the phone and snapped the picture, then handed it back to Mercy.

"Now, stick his hand in warm water and make him pee himself," Same laughed, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

Mercy caught the wince as well. "Let me take a good look at that shoulder," she said, as I piloted the boat through the crowded bay.

"I'm fine," Sam dismissed, trying a dismissive wave with his right hand and wincing again.

"Sam," Fi said, pointing her Glock at him, "Let her look at it before I have to put you out of your misery."

Rolling his eyes, Sam unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it from his shoulders. As I did my best to avoid the water skiers in my path, I caught Mercy's expression from the corner of my eye. She was not happy.

"The bullet is still in there, Sam," she announced. "You know what that means."

"It means," Fi wickedly grinned, "That I get to stick a sharp object into Sam's shoulder and dig around." She looked around the deck, nodded, then walked over and jammed her hand into Thinner Neck's pocket. Triumphantly, she pulled out a pocket knife. "Oh, this will work just fine."

"Tequila?" Mercy asked, carrying the bottle and a stack of clean white bar towels to where Sam sat.

"Don't mind if I do," Fi replied, opening the bottle and pouring it over the knife.

"Save some of that for me," Sam said, taking the bottle from her hand and taking a long drink. "I need some form of anesthetic."

"Okay," Fi said, knife paused over Sam's wound, "This is gonna hurt."

"Just don't enjoy it too much, okay?" he asked, looking out over the water and focusing his mind on some random spot in the distance.

I didn't watch her dig around in his shoulder; I had to keep my focus on getting through the busiest boating day in Florida history. Sam, to his credit, didn't make a sound. This wasn't his first time with a bullet wound and probably wouldn't be his last, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Almost have it," Fi said, intently working. "Just a little bit more…got it!" She held up a blood covered slug. "What a souvenir of your trip to Biscayne Bay?' she asked with a smile.

"I'm good," Sam said, as Mercy firmly held one of the bar towels to his shoulder.

"At least you won't get lead poisoning," she quipped, kissing him softly. He wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her closer, giving her a fuller kiss. "Hm….is this going to end up like the last time you got shot in Biscayne Bay?" she slyly asked.

"I don't know," he chuckled, "Do you still have that hot little patent leather nurse's outfit?"

"That, I did NOT need to hear," Fi said, looking positively nauseous as she went below deck to clean up.

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Fiona," Sam called after her with a laugh.

Slipping out of Sam's grasp, Mercy flipped open her phone, "I'm gonna call Brandt and have him get the local boys down here to clean this mess up and pick up Junior and these damn journals," she said, walking to the bow of the boat.

XXXXX

By the time we arrived at Nikki Beach, Brandt had orchestrated his team to collect the Columbians from their yacht and once we'd handed over the journals and left, to collect Junior.

Carrying the journals in her hand, Mercy walked through the crowded club. We followed a few feet behind and watched as she strolled through the gauzy curtained entrance of Junior's cabana.

"Hello, Mommy Dearest," he said, with a smile that told her that he was drunk or high or both.

"Hello Satan Spawn," she dryly returned, dropping the books into his lap. "Here are your books."

With a smug smile he said, "I knew you'd come to your senses once I sweetened the deal. Guess you'd like your little friend back, huh? I'll just make a quick call…"

"Save your breath," Sam said, walking into the cabana.

The smile left Junior's face. "How the hell?"

"Your Columbian friends are just as stupid as you are," she laughed, holding up her cell phone so that he could see the pictures of the drugged Columbians.

"What did you do to them?"

"Flashed them a little cleavage and slipped them a sedative," she replied, "You need to buy from smarter drug dealers next time."

Junior regrouped quickly. "Whatever. Once I turn these books over to any one of a hundred interested buyers, you're out of the picture, Mommy Dearest, and I will get what is mine."

Mercy nodded and fixed him with a cold smile. "You know, I've been thinking about that. And I think I can help you out. See, I found you a buyer. Someone I know would give me a good fair run for my money…"

"What?"

"Come on, Roger," she said, "Give me a break. If I've gotta go out, at least let it be fair. I've called an old…adversary of mine. He'll be stopping by to…work out a deal with you for those books. I know he'll treat you well."

Junior eyed her suspiciously, "What's going on, Mommy Dearest. Have you totally lost it?"

"No, just tired of having these books hanging over my head," she shrugged. "I'm gonna leave now. You know, give myself a bit of a running start…"

Junior, clearly stunned, said, "Yeah, you do that."

"Bye, Junior," she laughed, taking Sam's hand. "Come on, let's get out of here."

They walked out of the cabana and through the club, meeting us at a table on the VIP balcony. Where we had a bird's eye view of the entire club, most importantly, Junior's cabana.

"I don't want to know what you did to score this table," Sam mused, as a waiter set a bottle of beer in front of him.

Fi gave him an innocent smile, "A girl needs some secrets."

"Oh, look," I casually said, nodding down to the cabana area. "Junior has guests."

We all watched as a very tall, muscular, movie star handsome man in his mid 40's led a group of other equally tall, muscular movie star handsome men in designer suits through the club to Junior's cabana.

"Oh yeah," Mercy said, with a knowing smile, "That's Brandt."

Sam raised a brow, "Merce, that guy's Captain America. Why the hell is he a desk jockey?"

"Bad knee. He took a really bad hit to it one night when we were in Mexico."

"Ooh, really?" Fi asked, sitting up in her seat, "Do tell? Shooting? Lead pipe to the knee? Fallout from an explosion?"

Eyes still trained on Brandt, Mercy shrugged and said, "We fell out of a very high platform bed and hit a tile floor. He blew out his knee and I ended up with six stitches to the back of my head."

Suitably impressed, Fi nodded as Brandt and company finally led a very flustered Junior through the club. As they walked past the balcony, Brandt looked up, gave Mercy a killer smile and a wink, and then walked on.

"Mercy, I think my faith in you has been restored," Fi laughed, "Shall we have a mojito before we leave?"

Mercy cast a wary glance at Sam. He was looking pale and ragged, despite the smile he wore and I could see that Mercy was worried. Hell, I was a bit concerned myself. After all, Sam wasn't getting any younger, and the bounce back time from a gun shot wound got longer with age.

"Maybe we should go home…" she said.

But Sam would hear nothing of it. "We've got a table in the VIP balcony at the hottest nightspot in Miami. Who knows when that will ever happen again? Get that waitress over here!"


	9. Epilogue

**_A/N: Thank you to all who have continued to read and especially those who have reviewed! This "epilogue" closes out this portion of our story. If you'd like to see more of Mercy and Sam, let me know! I might be able to come up with another scene or two - or suggest what you'd like to see! I do take requests! ~~~~LG_**

There is a certain satisfaction that comes from a job well done and a different kind of satisfaction that comes from just finishing a job. Good or bad, it doesn't much matter. Just being rid of the whole thing is satisfaction in its own right.

Once the CIA had taken care of Junior and the Columbians, they set about the business of toppling Roger Devine's house of cards. The story hit the press with a bang. "Dead Millionaire Former Ambassador Exposed as Son Arrested With Columbian Drug Lords." Lovely. That had to hurt.

No mention was made of the former ambassador's widow. It was as if she simply never existed. Whatever relationship Mercy had with Brandt Wilson, she obviously left her mark to have him bury her that well. Within 24 hours, all of Mercy's records were amended so that no trace of the last name Devine remained, even her off shore accounts.

After her records had been fixed, Mercy thanked my mother for her hospitality, packed her bags, and took a room at the Fontainbleau while she contemplated her next move.

Mom had truly come to like Mercy and was sad to see her go. So much so that she pointed out that the house across the street from hers was for sale. She mentioned what a nice, quiet neighborhood it was and handed her the Realtor's card.

Mercy promised that she'd call the Realtor in the morning and take a look at the house. She also promised to come back for Tuesday poker night with Mom and Fi. There was something frightening about that.

XXXXX

By sunset, Mercy had settled into her suite and had taken a seat on the balcony to watch the sunset and contemplate her future.

"Want to get some dinner?" Sam asked, handing her a cold bottle of beer.

Mercy shrugged and took a long drink.

"Okay, Giggles," Sam said, sitting down on the chair next to hers, "What's eating you?"

"I've got to come up with a game plan, Sam," she said, "I can't just hole up here, drinking beer and waiting for you to show up."

He took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. "I dunno, I kinda like that arrangement."

"Yeah, and in two weeks I'll be fat, bored, and broke from shopping on QVC."

"So, what are you thinking?" he asked, as a terrible thought crossed his mind. "You are staying in Miami, aren't you?"

Mercy smiled at him, "Do you want me to?"

Relief crossed his features, "Of course I do."

Mercy wasn't convinced. "You do realize that things are going to be different if I stay?"

"I'm counting on it."

"You're going to have some one to answer to…"

"Someone to come home to…" he countered.

"Someone besides Sam Axe to worry about."

"I can do commitment," he said, then with a grin, "Or at least I can learn."

"I can help, you know. With Michael…your jobs…"

"Merce…" he warned.

"Sammy, I am still on top of my game! You know me."

"It's been a while."

Color flashed in her cheeks. "Are you afraid that I've lost my skills? Because I can still out shoot you and run faster than you, even in heels…"

"Whoa, Hot Stuff," he laughed, "Hold on. I have no doubt that your skills are still as sharp as the last time we worked together."

"Then what's the hesitation for?"

"This is a whole different ball game. You'd be going in purely freelance. There is no golden parachute, no get out of jail free card. I don't know if I want to drag you into…"

"Hold up!" she said, raising a hand. "I honestly don't know if I'm touched by your concern and worry for my safety or if I want to knee you in the nuts for treating me like some simple minded female."

He winced, "Go with the first one, that's how I meant it."

Mercy sighed and massaged her temples. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

Sam knelt in front of her. Taking her hands from her temples, he held them. "What do I have to do to prove to you that I want you to stay?"

"You're doing it," she smiled, "Keep going…"

Sam was on a roll and kept going. "Tomorrow, you're going to get up and call that Realtor. We're going to go look at that house across the street from Madi's."

"I am, huh?"

He nodded, "You want to help Michael? That's step one. You'll be right across the street from Madi, you can keep an eye on her. Think about it, you'll be better than any high priced security."

"And where will you be living? With Madi or with me?"

"That's up to you," he honestly said, "But I'd really like to be with you." Sam gave her his most sincere Boy Scout look. He'd perfected the mock sincerity and it worked wonders on women. Funny thing about it was that this time, he really was sincere.

And just like that, Mercy made up her mind. "Let's hope this Realtor knows how to work with off shore accounts."

"In Miami? Easy Peasy," Sam dismissed.

"Then it's settled. I'm staying."

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, "I knew you'd see things my way."

"I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," she laughed.

Like in most situations, Sam had no idea just what he was getting himself into, but this time, he had to admit, it didn't matter at all.


End file.
